Lost Heart Chronicles
by Unborn Lord Xion
Summary: Organization XIII. A group of Nobodies, of Hearts lost to Darkness. Six fell in pride and knowledge one fell for love. But what of the others? New: VIII, Flames. Swept away by fire and pride, the eigth heart is consumed.
1. VII: Shadows

He hefted his broadsword, a blade of moonlight held in warrior hands, and turned the silver edge on the sea of darkness before him. Aïs cared not where the creatures had come from, nor their purpose, although it seemed to be naught but destruction. He just tore forth, mind numbed by loss and agony, the blood of his son still bright on his face, mingling with that which poured from the deep gash across his forehead.

His dark hair flared like a penant, eyes bright with fire and hatred as he bore down on the murderers that stormed across his village. He cleaved one, and another, and another, watching the shadows ooze forth before feral golden eyes flared forth again.

All around him were screams, roars, a deafening cacophony, the audial sea of sorrow. He registered only on the farthest flung reaches of consciousness, so close to being wiped out by the red haze of hatred, that his own battle cry joined them. All that was left was death. All that was left was pain, pain in his very essence, pain he had to shove out through the world.

But then the darkness was gone, flared out in a sea of red light. He smelled ozone and blood, masking the so-recent smells of summer rain and festeval food and fireworks. A gloved hand touches his shoulder and he's quick to turn, quick to snarl and slash and bare his teeth, but the hooded figure moves before he can strike a blow.

"It hurts," the shadow man drones.

Aïs moans in reply, the rage fading and replaced by sick, icy grief.

"You're alone," another sneers, the slightest hint of contempt in his arrogant growl. Aïs turns and stares down the hunched, broad-shouldered man, but has no eyes to lock on, no face to spit in. Just shadows.

"Your heart must be so full of darkness," another says, sounding almost wistful. He's small and frail and Aïs knows he could break him like a twig, but he's lost the strength to lift his sword, lost the strength to do anything but just barely hold back tears.

"Give in," the first man says. "Give in, and let go. Let the pain fade forever."

He turns his head again, the honey brown eyes which his wife _oh god, how she bled, how she cried_ had called beautiful now blood-shot and full of hate. He tries to stand, tries to charge again, because there's no way he'll just give up to death, no way he'll let himself just die.

"I am Aïs, and I will not give in!" he roars.

But then he feels talons in his back, ripping open cloth and flesh and _oh god_, he can feel it scraping across his very bones, digging through him to get to the heart. He never stops trying, never stops forcing himself to his feet until the muscles fail him, sending him flat on his chest, flat on his face, and all his can do is _scream_ as it keeps boring into him.

And all he can do is watch as the dark man steps forward, a tiny beam of crimson light extending from a finger, and whimper as it cuts into his eyebrow, down across his forehead until its below his eye.

"Saïx," he mutters.

Then darkness.


	2. VIII: Flames

Learassio liked to watch the fire. That wonderful, flickering light that he could give life - and use to take life. And there was little that wouldn't burn. From grass to bone, anything could be consumed by the crimson glow. It was his lover and his God.

This time it was a house going up in smoke, wood and timbers going up in so much smoke and ash. They'd never catch him; the police of Provence hadn't a chance. He was too clean, and in the little village he was planning on next, there was naught but a half-wit hunter named Gaston to watch out for.

But this night, something was strange. The hot orange glow, reflected in his pale hazel eyes, was moving. Shifting. Not like fire was supposed to, but rather like something was trying to get out. And then he saw the shadows, crawling and floating and stalking forward, twisted monsters with glowing eyes and ragged claws, and there was nothing to do but run.

It was too late, Learassio knew, as soon as he heard the cracking of twigs. He didn't need to turn, didn't need to see the golden eyes leering at him from beyond the forest's edge, but he saw it anyway. He was trapped, cut off.

"Shit," he growled.

Without another moment's hesitation, he turned to run again, and leapt over one of the smaller monsters in his way. They had taken up the chase, but he was fast, made so by years of running from the scene. Now, instead, he was running towards it.

A crack of thunder. A voice calls out.

"We can help you, boy!" it says, flat and lifeless but so persuasive all the same. "Give in to the darkness. Give in to Organization X!"

But he kept running, not wasting his breath on a response. The air grew hot, the light flared brighter, and the crash of falling timbers rang out in his ears. Sparks flashed through the air, pricking at his skin.

He knew the tide was still behind him, knew that it was death or death with the offer of aid never factoring into his mind, for Learassio didn't _need _help for anyone. And one death was clearly better than the other.

"Let's see what the fire really looks like," he whispered, and then it was all smoke and heat, licking at him with wispy tongues, choking the air from his lungs.

When the beasts attacked, he didn't notice. He never registered when they pulled loose his heart. There was just fire one moment and darkness the next.

Darkness.

From atop the ridge where the strange brunet had started, Xemnas clucked in disappointment.

"Foolish," he sighed.

Saïx, standing next to him, silently agreed.

The fire crackled, and the Heartless shrieked in pain or joy, Xemnas cared not which. They would die by his hand, or the claymore of his new comrade, soon enough. For now, he just watched.

And saw a shape begin to emerge.

Hair fiery red, but still wild and long.

Eyes flashing green fire.

"Organization X, huh?" he drawled. "Then call me Axel. A-X-E-L."

'Axel' paused. Something felt wrong, something..._missing_. Then it clicked.

"Got it memorized?"


End file.
